


Hearts On Plates, In Bottles

by gala_apples



Series: An Alphabet of Teen Wolf Crossovers [18]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Cockblocking, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Pack Building, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1956810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has faced some pretty interesting Pack negotiations in the past. This is the first one that involves five people in a bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts On Plates, In Bottles

**Author's Note:**

> I did NOT tag for necrophilia, just like I wouldn't in a Peter/anyone story. I don't think a resurrected character counts as a dead body. If you do, this is not the fic for you.

Stiles isn’t ashamed of his overstimulation kink. For one thing, it’s a logical and convenient kink to have, considering his ADHD. Much better than if his body wanted bondage, because there’s no way his brain could handle zero stimuli for an extended period of time. He’d probably go insane before he ever found subspace. Secondly, it dovetails with his lovers’ bedroom needs perfectly. 

Scott’s got a thing for edging. Not quite orgasm denial, but pushing to the brink then falling back, pushing and falling, pushing and falling. Stiles may have permanently altered Scott’s psyche that day in sophomore year, strapping Finstock’s monitor to him and pushing him while telling him to stay calm, telling him it was a matter of life and death, forcing him to find refuge in the pleasure of Allison. Stiles doesn’t regret it. He can’t, not when it’s led to tonight’s three plus hours of fucking. He and Allison have come like five times each. If Scott goes for another Stiles will be coming dry, he’s sure of it. And there’s no reason to not try. Everyone at home isn’t expecting them back until morning at least. They’re always gone overnight when they go on Allison’s med runs.

They’re taking a well deserved water break -Gatorade, specifically, when you fuck like it’s the Boston Marathon you need electrolytes- when it happens. One second Stiles is gargling with his blue flavour, coating his mouth with it because the lingering flavour will piss off Scott and Stiles tries to enjoy the little things in life these days. The next the door is being kicked open.

Stiles’ first instinct is to say harmless. The man standing in the doorframe looks like a toddler on a sugar high could put him on the ground. Scott and Allison don’t seem to think so. On one side of the king mattress, Scott’s got his face on. On the other side Allison’s crossbow is primed.

The guy; tall, beaked face, in multiple layers of plaid, raises his hands. His sleeves fall down his arms, showing wrists that are as impossibly thin as his face. “Hold on, hold on. I’m not a threat, I swear!”

Allison’s eyebrows lift as her mouth pulls down. Stiles knows it’s as good as cocking a trigger. He wonders if the stranger can see that. “You broke in the door.”

“Yeah, but I had really good reasons. I swear that too. But if you’re feeling wronged you could talk to Mr Fizzles about it.”

“Who is Mr Fizzles?” Scott asks. It’s his Alpha hat he’s wearing now, he always gets all interrogative when he’s actually stepping into the role.

“It’s just in my room. I made it for two friends who were having trouble communicating. Hon, could you get Mr Fizzles?” 

He didn’t raise his voice at all for the last clause, but a minute later a woman is standing beside him, something grey in her hand. It points to non-human, but that’s not necessarily bad, in Stiles’ book. Eighty percent of the people in his life are non-human. The thin man takes the item from the cardiganed woman and slips it over his fingers. It’s a sock puppet. It’s got blue eyes and red lipstick.

“Tell Mr Fizzles why you’re upset,” the man recommends, thrusting his hand out towards the bed.

Stiles bursts into sniggers. He can’t help it. Call him a bad wingman in battle, but there is just no way to take this ‘threat’ seriously. 

“You broke in the door,” Allison repeats.

“Okay. You got me there, I did.”

The guy tilts his socked hand towards himself. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

If Stiles was five again, he might watch an episode of this show on PBS. The sock puppet -Mr Fizzles- has a completely different voice than the guy had a moment ago. Like, an I-can’t-believe-Bart-Simpson-is-voiced-by-a-woman different voice. As it is, he’s just taking rude enjoyment out of the way Scott and Allison are reacting to the apparent predator now answering his own puppet.

“Yes. I was going out to buy Bess some Funions and I smelled a werewolf and a human and sex. Happy sex, not ritual sex or rapey sex. And that’s a really important combination for us. Me and my wife,” the man clarifies. “So I had to say hi before their hour was over and they left. Even now that I know you hang with possessed people. So, howdy!”

“I’m not possessed anymore!” Stiles is sure of it. He has to be clean. He can’t do that again. He just can’t.

“Not you. Her.” The man points with the puppeted hand, then seems to realise it and peels Mr Fizzles off.

“I’m not possessed,” Allison snaps. She’s irritated enough to cross her arms over her bare chest, except she can’t because she has to hold the bow in case Skinny needs killing. When you’re an Argent it’s business before expressing moods.

“You’re a corpse that acts alive. You have to be possessed by a demon.”

“I was only a corpse for a little. I’m better now!”

“How about you come in with no weapons and we talk,” Scott suggests, showing enough Alpha leadership qualities to make Stiles proud. It’s been a bit of a Sisyphean task for Scott. It’s not like he has any good role models in Alphahood.

“Well, I can’t stop being a werewolf, and that can get a bit violent. But no guns? Sure thing.”

The guy pulls a gun out from under the green plaid overshirt. He then puts his gun down on the hall carpet. Stiles has a second or two to wonder if the guy’s for real, because who thinks dirty floral carpeting is a good place for weaponry? Chris would rather die, Stiles is sure of it. Then his concerns are hijacked by the man and his wife and their freaky life choices. When they come in, they choose to sit on the bed, wife neatly draping her floral print skirt over her tucked legs. Stiles’ foot is about an inch from Bess’ ass.

It’s not the first time Stiles has had to grab for underwear and try to get them on under blankets. His dad really doesn’t believe in locked doors, and neither does Chris Argent. It is the first time with strangers. It’s equally uncomfortable, just for different reasons. One of which being in a king sized bed Stiles can’t just reach over Scott, he has to crawl over his boyfriend, and disturbing voyeur werewolves or not, naked-Stiles _likes_ naked-Scott.

Scott and Allison don’t seem to care, of course. Scott’s gotten increasingly nudist after he turned Alpha. Maybe it’s a _thing_ for Alphas. Derek used to be shirtless a lot, and that in company. Who knows what he wore or didn’t wear while alone? And Allison just has the confidence of Tyra Banks. If she didn’t have it before, she’s developed it in her ongoing fight to keep existing. You had to like yourself to insist on persisting. She doesn’t even try to cover herself until the skinny guy passes her a shirt off the floor. It’s clearly Scott’s, but she puts it on.

“Stiles, you done?” Scott asks a bit impatiently once Stiles is situated back in the middle of the bed.

“Excuse me for needing underwear to face a strange werewolf.” He’s not actually done, underwear not yet pulled up his hips, but he can multitask. It’s totally possible to complain and get dressed at the same time.

“Two, actually,” Bess says a bit apologetically.

“Okay,” Allison claps her hands. Her crossbow’s on the nightstand now, but Stiles is sure she could pick it up in the time it takes Scott to drop fangs, if necessary. “You said human and werewolves together are an important combo for you. Why?”

“We used to be part of the Myers Pack. Her family. But as it turns out they’re a cult, and a few of my friends had to shoot a few of them. So we ran away.”

The woman smiles. “Or whatever the equivalent is that doesn’t make us sound like thirteen year olds mad about curfew.”

“But it’s harder, not in a pack.”

“We get that,” Stiles agrees. “When Aiden and Ethan were omega they were freaking out.” 

Aiden’s still a bit off kilter, to tell the truth. He didn’t take to being reanimated as well as Allison did. Possibly because Lydia won’t date him now. If it wasn’t for Ethan making sure he takes his compounds every day, Aiden would probably already be dead again.

“So because you’re the kind of wolves we want to get on with, can we go with you? Live in your territory and all?”

While Stiles is still getting the harmless vibe off of him, this is suddenly a bigger issue than knocking (or lack thereof) etiquette. “Uh. You realise that we’re not his only Pack, right? I mean, depending on if you’re a stickler for rules, we’re not even Pack.”

“Of course you are! Humans are super important!”

He’s so damn adorable that it’s easy to forget he was packing a concealed weapon. Stiles knows Allison thinks so too. There’s a smile in her voice as she answers “not the point. Stiles is saying Scott can’t just say yes, he has to talk to everyone. We don’t even know your name!”

“Garth,” the man says as Bess introduces herself like she didn’t hear Garth do it minutes ago.

Scott continues with the questions that might save them months worth of hassle. “Do you have any known enemies?”

“Not really? The few members of the old Pack sort of split up and are doing their own thing now.” Bess turns to look at her husband. “If anything happens it’ll be his side.”

The three of them narrow in on that for different reasons. Scott needs to be a good Alpha, Allison is good at dissecting threats, and Stiles just likes hearing a good story. At least half the research he completes he gets from case studies.

“Why’s that?”

Garth makes a face. “Well, not enemies, really. Just nosy friends. Before I got bit, I was a Hunter.”

Allison stiffens beside him. Her hand claws down on his right thigh. Stiles wants to tell her to be gentle. While her hair and teeth and skin are nearly perfect, the tonics that keep her alive don’t do much for her fingernails. They shred off her fingers as easily as tissue paper. But she doesn’t like to be babied, so Stiles keeps quiet.

“You were a Hunter and you didn’t kill yourself when you were turned?”

“Now what would be the sense in that? I’m not gonna say I didn’t consider it for a second, but-” Garth takes Bess’s hand, “when I met her I knew that love was more important than so-called purity.”

It takes everything Stiles has to not gather Allison into his arms. He wants to, is sure Scott wants to too. Even though Victoria Argent tried to kill him, Stiles is certain Scott would rather she still be alive, for Allison’s sake. It is a fucked up parent who thinks tradition is more important than caring for their flesh and blood. It’s not what Allison wants though. She’s practically radiating with _don’t pity me_ , Stiles could probably pick it up with a Geiger counter.

“I coulda kept helping, even, but I wanted to settle down with my wife on the farm. It was a really nice home, for as long as we had it.”

“Semi-retired Hunter. Okay. You obviously don’t kill werewolves. How do you feel about other things? Like, for random example, kitsunes?”

Stiles nearly laughs. Scott is a great guy, but he’ll never be smooth.

“Fine, probably? Some things need killing. Most don’t. You gotta not get jaded, you can see more alternative solutions that way. But demons. That’s where I draw the line in the sand. Or salt, I guess.” Garth looks at Allison with a considering expression. “Except for you, I guess. If your boyfriends here trust you...”

Allison rolls her eyes. “Not a demon, I told you. I was dead for a period of time, then a ritual called me back into my own body. I need a daily supply of certain tonics. If I don’t take them, my body dies again, and they’re not sure where my spirit would go.”

“Probably not heaven,” Garth replies. “It’s closed.”

Stiles smirks. Finally he won’t be the only atheist in the Pack. You’d think Derek would forsake the gods about his shitstorm life, become an atheist out of spite, but nope.

“Anyway, back on topic. You think your Hunter friends would search you out?”

“Well, Sam and Dean get pretty busy. It took them a while to even find out. But eventually, probably, yeah. It’s okay though. I’ll just explain you’re a non-killing people Pack.”

“Beyond that though?’ Scott presses. “Beyond Hunters that will probably listen to reason? No pissed Alpha, or yeti, or red caps?”

“We seriously hate red caps,” Stiles adds. Fuckin’ psychotic serial killing assholes. He wouldn’t be surprised if Gerard Argent was a red cap in a past life. The only thing Stiles hates more than a red cap is a nogitsune.

Garth shakes his head, smile stretching his thin lips. “Not that I can think of. If it’s hated me I’ve probably killed it.”

“Garth!” Bess hisses.

“What?”

“Repeat what you just said in your head.’

“What? Oh. No, no, no.” He shakes it again, this time frantically. “I just meant because my job is dispatching spirits and demons to protect people, if it hates me it’s probably evil and planning to hurt people, so I kill it. I stop it.”

“He really does only hurt aggressive things,” Bess adds, voice nearly pleading.

“Truth be told, we get a fair share of aggressive things in Beacon Hills.”

At this point Stiles is pretty damn good at reading Scott and Allison. They’re both clearly on board. Stiles wants to be the one to tell Bess and Garth. A) because he likes giving good news, and B) because it’s important that they don’t just like humans in packs, but realise they -he- have equal power.

“So you’re definitely past stage one. We want you in. We’re still going to have to make sure you don’t have an unfortunate history with any of the other Pack members, but stage one, the interview process, is cleared. So if we promise to take you to Beacon Hills tomorrow morning will you stop cock-blocking us?”

Bess snickers quietly while Garth stammers an apology. The phrase _I didn’t realise_ is used, which is a blatant lie. Three naked people on a bed, what did he think he was doing? Bottom line though, they both get out, and close the door behind them. 

Stiles tosses the blankets off and sighs. Scott’s got betas that will be vastly underestimated to strengthen his Pack, Allison’s got another month of medication for herself and Aiden beyond the emergency week supply at home, and look, that’s a hand creeping past the band of his underwear. Life is good.


End file.
